


Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones but I Will Always Heal Them

by m4lware



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Depression, F/M, Gore, Mental Health Issues, Mutilation, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m4lware/pseuds/m4lware
Summary: Steven copes with his issues in the worst way possible.Because when you hurt so much on the inside, you need to balance it on the out.
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones but I Will Always Heal Them

**Author's Note:**

> Please please read the tags! As another heads up, trigger warning for excessive blood, mild intestinal gore and extreme self-harm depiction. Stay safe!

It’s so weird, Steven thinks, to be human.

His whole life has been camera-focused on his gem life, that he never really got to be a human kid. He doesn’t even know if he knows  _ how _ to be a human kid. Ever since he was a child he’s been thrown into gem conflict and fighting gem battles and solving gem problems that have been around for millennia before he was even born. It’s been so overwhelming that sometimes he forgets that it should be all over. The gem empire’s been rebuilt and all his enemies at this point are either petty or off living their own lives doing whatever it is they’ve decided to do. Everyone’s doing better, and he supposes he’s supposed to be doing better too. After the catharsis that was his corruption, Steven knows that he should be on the fast track to recovery. He got that embarrassing temper tantrum out of his system and now he was better because the gems and his dad and Connie were all there to pick him up now that he’s fallen.

That’s how he wished this had all turned out at least. It had been a week and a half (he’s not very sure, he’s been in and out of sleep the first few days after the transformation) and his stomach feels as jumbled and gross as it had when he blew up in front of the people he cared about most. It was just quieter now he supposed. Instead of the loud gurgle of a pot that boiled over, it was a low but present sizzle of a pan about to burn its ingredients. 

He was almost 18 and he was just now learning how to be human, and it felt unfair.

He sat on a chair in the kitchen, making the finishing touches on a sandwich he was preparing. Steven felt his mind stirring as he chopped the lettuce he would add to the cheese and tomatoes. The faint rustle of paper reminded him that someone was in the house, that someone being Lapis. After what happened he was rarely let alone in the house, but it was a miracle that at this point he was allowed only one supervisor instead of three. It irritated him. He was sixteen, not six. He shouldn’t need to be babysat.

Steven suddenly felt a sudden pinch and he hissed, dropping the knife on the table with a clink. He heard Lapis’ footsteps grow closer until she was in his line of sight. 

“Hey Steven, you okay? I heard a clattering,” she asked.

The boy looked down at his hand. The tip of his thumb was red, dripping its way down the side of his hand. 

“O-Oh, yeah, it’s okay Lapis. Just nicked myself cutting up some lettuce I guess.”

The blue gem exhaled the small breath she was holding. “Okay, just make sure to be careful. If you need me I’ll be reading in the living room,” she replied as she made her way back to the couch, but not without pausing for a second to look back at the boy, who looked back at her with a smile. 

Once Lapis left he assessed the damage. Not too serious, but it was a pretty long cut. It went from the tip of his thumb down to almost reaching the palm. He brought his hand up to his mouth but didn’t heal it at first. He just watched the blood drip down, running its way to his forearm. Red, just like blood should be, just like what _human_ blood should be. He felt the dulling sting on his thumb as he attempted to flex it, earning him a searing sensation of pain and he bit his lip, shaking his hand. Despite the unpleasant feeling, a part of Steven didn’t want to heal it right away. Something about the cut made him feel real, more organic. It made him feel like a flesh and bone human. 

His eyes were transfixed at the slowly minimizing stream. He wiped away some as to avoid it not dripping onto the floor. Before he could rationalize it Steven grabbed the knife, carried it underneath his shirt to his room, and then locked the door behind him. 

Steven made his way toward his bed and sat on the comfy surface of the well-worn mattress. He absentmindedly wiped some of the excess blood from his head on the backside of his pillowcase, and then pulled out the knife from its hiding spot on his body. 

He stared at the tool for a few seconds. The silver blade was partially spotted with his blood. He looked back towards the cut on his hands. He still hadn’t healed it, he realized. It would be so easy too, just a few kisses along his hand and the worst he’d have to deal with would be the bitter and metallic taste of blood. But as he moved his fingers and flexed his hand, as he continued to feel the sharp sting of hurt that traversed its way through his nerves, he decided to wait just a little while longer. Steven knew there was no reason  _ not  _ to heal himself, but maybe instead he could cover it with a bandage or a bandaid, or whatever normal human kids did when they got a cut.

Plus, the strong throb of his hand made him feel...better?

That shouldn’t be the right word to use, but Steven knew that he felt a disturbing sense of pleasure. For days now he’s felt so numb and dull, but this cut, this  _ pain  _ felt like something else. And Steven knew it was wrong, he knows he  _ shouldn’t be thinking like this  _ because he knew that’s when this accident would traverse into dangerous territory. He  _ knew  _ this kind of thinking could lead to self-harm, he’s spent years dealing with people on the brink of self-injury or those who were hurting themselves unintentionally. And yet…

And yet he still found himself lifting the bottom of his shirt and scrunching it up below his chin to reveal his stomach. Steven clutched the hilt of the knife and brought the very tip of the blade to the tender skin just below his sternum area. His hands shook as he attempted to push the blade down into the flesh. His hands shook, almost violently, before he jolted his hands away from his stomach and took rough, shuddering breaths.

_ Coward, coward, coward  _ he repeated to himself. He’s been through worse, he thought. His skull’s been fractured multiple times, he’s been knocked out, he’s had his gem ripped out of him and  _ almost died.  _ Why was he so scared of a cut?

Steven tried again. And again. Still each time his nerves got the best of him and he pulled away. He was furious. He couldn’t even  _ hurt  _ himself right. His hands tightened around the handle of his knife and he shut off his mind. Fuck his thoughts, he wanted this. No, no he  **needed** this. Needed that sensation, that agony, that  _ something  _ that made him feel  **real.**

So without hesitation, he plunged the blade deep into the top of his stomach.

And oh, oh the  _ pain. _

He let out a muffled grunt as he bit his lip, drawing blood at the sheer strength of the bite. It burned and throbbed and stung like a bastard. It took everything in him to not scream out in shock, alerting Lapis downstairs. Steven felt so weak, he shifted his pupils downward and saw a rail of blood begin to trickle down his stomach, the flow obstructed by the knife. He knew that once he pulled out he’d begin to bleed profusely.

Steven felt high. Not a pleasant, buzzed high but a high that made his head feel fuzzy, the pain overwhelming all other thoughts and emotions in his mind. He dragged the blade downwards, cutting deep into his flesh, and he reveled in the unbearable burn that made his mind swim with a bittersweet agony. It hurt, Jesus god it hurt so much, the pain was unimaginable but he didn’t stop. If he stopped now he’d have left a messy, unfinished job, and he wouldn’t have that. Steven did things right and good and he wasn’t a coward or failure, right? 

He kept dragging until he felt the blade stop suddenly once it hit a hard surface. He struggled to move his light-headed skull downwards to realize that his blade had stopped at his gem. For a moment he tried to cut through it as well without thinking about the consequences, but it wouldn’t budge. Diamonds really  _ were  _ tough, huh? His vision hazy, he slid the knife out of him as the edge dragged along the gem and he let go of the now heavily bloodied tool. 

The whole of his midsection was read and covered with thick, deep red blood that still continued to pour out of him. Every second Steven felt dizzier at the quick pace of the blood loss. He barely had the strength to lift his hand to feel for damage, but he could feel with the tips of his fingers that more internal flesh and guts had begun to seep out of himself. He was going to die, he knew it. Steven had cut too deep, went too far. His innards were peeking through and his blood was rushing to escape his body.

Steven could feel himself salivating and quickly spit onto his wounds and spread it onto his stomach, pushing aside the sting of the pressure against the gash. Instantly, the wounds began to seal up, sowing his body back together slowly but surely. He felt the skin around the wound tighten as it became whole again, and soon the boy could feel a burst of life return to his pale, drained complexion. 

He breathed in deep and slowly the burn in his midsection faded away into a dull ache thinly spread along the once open gash in his abdomen. Now with more energy, Steven dragged his hand along his belly, then brought it up to his face afterward to reveal it covered in blood. With regret, he realized that he may have healed the skin, but all the excess blood was still there, making a mess of his mattress and bedsheets. That was a problem for future Steven, he thought, as he laid down on his back on the bed and just thought.

"Okay, " Steven whispered to himself, "You just did that."

He rested his right hand over the top of his stomach. He was about to lower his shirt back down, but then realized that would only result in having a stained shirt  _ and  _ bed, and the less he had to clean up the better. 

Steven was surprised that he wasn't freaking out more, he  _ should  _ be panicking over what he just did because  _ what he just did isn’t normal., Steven.  _ People don’t just cut their stomachs open willy-nilly. It occurred to him as to why he didn’t do something milder, maybe a scratch along his arm or a few messy jabs along his thighs. He doesn’t know what possessed him to mutilate himself the way he just had. 

But as the boy laid down in a mess of his own blood and with sweat dripping down his forehead from the stress, he couldn’t deny that he didn’t dislike what he just did. In fact, the searing burn of the gash across his midsection may have consumed his mind with an unimaginable cloud of agony, it still felt better than the fog of depression and nothing that had been surrounding him for days on end, because at least with the physical pain he could control it. He could make it stop whenever he wanted to, and while the harsh sensations attacked him it distracted from everything else. 

Plus, there was a sick sense of satisfaction with the ordeal being done. If he were a full gem - a full  _ diamond  _ \- then he would’ve poofed in an instant, right? Except as he continued to drag down he never poofed, he continued to remain present in the moment of physical anguish as he let himself get consumed in the mouth of the pain. His  _ not _ poofing just gave him another reason to differentiate himself from his mother! It was only self-harm in the technical sense, he rationalized to himself. This made him feel better about himself, and as long as he healed himself right afterward, it couldn’t be  _ that  _ bad, could it?

“Yeah,” he said to himself, a small yet self-fulfilling smile arising on his face, “not that bad at all.”

“Slowly, he began to rise from his bed, flinching slightly from the light ache that still resided around his midsection. He looked down at his bed and hitched his breath.

_ Ah shit. _

There was a lot more blood than he realized there would be. It was completely drenched in red, already drying. Steven quickly gathered up the ruined sheets and lifted them over his head, checking to see if it seeped into his mattress. Unluckily, there were pinkish discolorations now present in some spots on the once completely white mattress. 

This was fine he assured himself, pacing around his room with the sheets now being held under his armpit. First things first were to take care of the sheets. Making sure not to go anywhere near the living room, Steven opened the door to his room as quietly as he could, cringing as he heard the door open with a soft creak.

He speedily tiptoed to the washing machine, keeping the bloodied sheets right against his body. Once having arrived, he swiftly tossed the fabric inside the washer, adding needed detergent and such that lay present beside the machine. 

As he began its turn cycle Steven thought about how these were one of these moments where he wishes the beach house had more walls. Back when he was just about to turn 16, he had gently requested having some walls of his own be built around his own room. He was growing up and wanted more privacy (because he didn't really get much of that with the whole rebuilding of the gem empire and helping homeworld gems adjust to life on Earth). His dad thought it was a food idea, and so with Bismuth's help, they were put up. It was lonely at first, but now he was grateful for his new safe space.

Suddenly he heard a small  _ ding!  _ from the washer. Steven hurriedly opened the lid of the washing machine and pulled out the sheets. They didn't look... _ great _ but to be fair he'd only had them in the wash for about ten minutes, and he guessed blood didn't really come out very easily. It wasn't too bad, though. The boy figured that maybe with a hand scrub and some air drying it wouldn't be as apparent. 

Returning to his room with the moist sheets in hand, he tucked them underneath his bed to dry. Last was to clean himself up and deal with...the knife. 

Bringing himself and the knife to the bathroom Steven wiped himself down with damp paper towns and flushed them down the toilet, making sure to get rid of any dried blood. After that, he gave the knife the same treatment. 

Steven stared at the dulling knife, quickly gazing at his own faded reflection in the blade. 

He knew that he shouldn't hold onto it. He knew that what he did wasn't normal. He knew that going through all the trouble he just went through wasn't worth the burst of sick adrenaline. Yes, he knew all of this.

Yet, he still took the knife back to his room and tucked in underneath the space between his mattress and the bed frame.

Steven scrounged around his drawers and grabbed a brightly covered bed sheet and placed it over the mattress, effectively obscuring the light stains on it. 

  
With all the cleanup done Steven laid back down on his bed, hissing when he accidentally laid on the hand with the minor cut and closed his eyes. He was just...so overwhelmed. And  _ tired. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is going to be quite short, maybe three chapters, but I've always wanted to post my gorier stuff and put it out there. Thanks again for the read!


End file.
